


Of Fame and the Adonians

by PurpleFluffyCat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Backstory, Belly Kink, Body Worship, Business, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, M/M, Memory Charms, Memory Magic, Power Dynamics, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-17 22:43:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5888131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleFluffyCat/pseuds/PurpleFluffyCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: "Slughorn/Lockhart, because it's always fun to watch two egos collide. Maybe Slughorn is the one who helped Lockhart on his road to literary fame back in the day. I'd love to see Slytherin!Lockhart in the Slug Club."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Fame and the Adonians

**Author's Note:**

  * For [McKay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/McKay/gifts).



Gilderoy smiled as he leaned back in his chair, shaking his golden locks and feeling satisfied; today was the day he would be invited to join the illustrious Slug Club, he just _knew_ it.

It had been quite an effort to get to this stage, after all. He was an average student – not exceptional, but not as dumb as some liked to think, but try as he had, his marks had never qualified for top-of-the-class ranking. Similarly, his family were fairly wealthy and relatively pure-of-blood (save for the indiscretions of a few younger aunts), but not sufficiently influential to attract the attention of his Head of House.

Oh, and how Gilderoy wanted that attention! The boy had never been a shrinking violet – always keen to talk and perform at family parties as a child, and quick to adopt flamboyant clothes and long hair as a teenager. Now, in his sixth year at Hogwarts he was desperate to achieve to two things – to charm the green trimming of his school robes the precise colour of turquoise that would tone with his eyes, and to mingle with the stars and celebrities who seemed to frequent the Slug Club, thus fuelling his wide-eyed fantasy that he would one day join their ranks. He felt now that he had perfected the former (if only for a few hours at a time) and was a hair's breadth away from the latter. Life was, indeed, good.

In the end, Gilderoy mused, the plan had been a pretty simple one. He had obtained the catalogue of a commercial potion-making company and had asked his mother to owl him a flagon of memory-lapse potion, feigning that he needed it for a school experiment and had forgotten to buy it in Diagon Alley that summer. Then he had simply pretended to his classmates that it was his birthday (or half-birthday, or whatever) and by the time a spiked bottle of butterbeer had been passed around, he was mostly assured of the best mark in the mid-term Potions exam. It had worked a treat, and now, a few hours later, he sat in the Slytherin common room waiting for the mythical invitation to appear that he was sure he had earned.

Gilderoy sat patiently, every so often checking his reflection in the overmantle mirror, but as the evening drew on he became more dejected. There was no fluttering of wings at the window, no message from the prefect, and no house elf bearing a silver salver. Yet here he was, he thought indignantly, victorious and available. _What on earth could the matter be?_

Eventually, the common room cleared as all his house-mates went to bed. Gilderoy thought about giving up and just going to put in his curlers, when all of a sudden a deep voice announced the common room password and the imposing shape of Professor Slughorn swept inside. Gilderoy caught his breath and vainly tried to look busy as the Professor appeared to make for the fireplace, but then stopped and turned theatrically towards him.

“Oh, dear boy, so pleased I could catch you, as I'm sure you have had a very busy evening,” Slughorn said with great bonhomie and the aloofness of someone who liked to make others wait.

“Oh no, Professor. I was just going to...” Gilderoy trailed off before explaining the full intricacies of his hair-care routine, and instead gestured winsomely upwards.

“Of course, of course,” replied Slughorn, beaming, “there's just one little thing I'd like to bring up with you, if I may?”

“Oh yes, Professor!” _This was it!_ thought Gilderoy – his ticket to the top!

“Very impressive use of that memory-lapse potion this afternoon – Immortia Subtilis, was it?”

 _What?!_ No, no, this couldn't be! The conversation was not supposed to go like this! Gilderoy began to panic and smiled sheepishly in the uncomfortable pause that followed. Slughorn wasn't supposed to have been found out! How on earth could he salvage the situation now?!

“Don't worry, my lad,” continued the Professor when he saw Gilderoy's stricken expression, “I'm not in the least angry. Of course, I had to adjust everyone else's marks upwards to take the effect of the potion into account, and then you came a very respectable fifteenth. Not quite prodigy material, but not everyone can be famous, can they, eh? Anyway, never mind all that.” He smiled broadly and made a dismissive gesture. “I thought it showed great ingenuity.”

Gilderoy's mind was mainly blank, but the small part that was functional couldn't decide whether to be relieved that he hadn't been given a month of detention or devastated that his plan had failed. He saw his chance to mingle with the great and the good slip quietly away, and felt as if his favourite pet had just died. Quietly, crestfallen, he tried to excuse himself. “Erm. Thank you Professor. Its late, so I'm just off to bed.”

“Yes of course, dear boy, you must get your beauty sleep. And plenty of it too, so you're all ready for my little soirée tomorrow evening.”

Gilderoy couldn't believe his ears. “Professor...?”

“Tomorrow evening, 8 o' clock in my quarters. I'd like you to be there – if you're free of course. There are a couple of people I'd like you to meet. The code is dress robes, and nothing too heavy, it will be nice and ...errr... _warm_.”

Slughorn grinned as if he had just finished a particularly fine chocolate cake, said goodnight and strode out of the common room as quickly as he had entered.

Gilderoy took himself off to bed in an excited daze – he could barely believe the conversation that had just taken place, but he was ecstatic nevertheless.

As always for night-time, his young body felt tense and uncompromisingly randy, and augmented somewhat by the auspicious news, his cock was already half-hard from anticipation of his evening ritual.

Preferring boys to girls, Gilderoy had never had a _relationship_ as such, but he had enjoyed sufficient formative experience to know what he liked. He also appreciated quite how beautiful he was, and had decided some time ago that he was not going to squander such a prize as himself on someone who couldn't offer equal value. It was therefore with a sense of great self-satisfaction that he closed the curtains about his four-poster bed, muttered a silencing charm and removed the cloth from the mirror that was levitated at a forty-five degree angle above the foot of the bed. 

Gilderoy spread his golden hair on the pillow for maximum aesthetic effect, and slid his pyjama bottoms down his slender hips, spreading his legs and caressing the taut muscles of his abdomen as his did so. Tonight was going to be a treat, he decided – long and slow.

He was now fully erect and ached to be touched. Denying himself one minute longer, Gilderoy shifted position slightly to admire his long, slender legs in the mirror, and to wonder for a moment how his stomach could be so _fabulously_ slim and buff, before he closed his eyes, reached down and became lost in his favourite and most familiar fantasy.

He hissed with pleasure as he felt a hand close about his cock, but Gilderoy imagined the hand was his Professor's, not his own. The bold, strong, well-connected head of Slytherin house was lavishing attention on _him_ , staring at his beauty open-mouthed and offering his regard in return.

Gilderoy imagined how he would stroke gently using the full palm of his large hands and lick his plump lips as he watched Gilderoy become hard and breathless. He would caress Gilderoy's young body from shoulder to thigh and say that in all of his years and travels he had never seen a finer form. He would bend down to kiss his spread student and Gilderoy would strain upwards eagerly, drinking in his Professor's experience, and time, and all of those things that made Slughorn so _sophisticated._

Gilderoy increased the pace of his pumping as he ran through the scene, pressing his lips together as if they pressed upon another person's. He was close now, very close, but he didn't want to end things too soon – his fantasy had another scene to play out...

Of course, Gilderoy had never seen Slughorn naked, but the glimpses afforded by the Professor's attire on blisteringly hot summer days gave enough to go on, coupled with his own elaborate imagination. Professor Slughorn was strong and solidly built, with muscled legs and tanned skin that spoke of his youth in the British colonies. He had broad, straight shoulders, but crowning it all was his huge belly – so large and round it was almost splendid. Gilderoy liked the idea of a man who could take up space – the important, imposing presence appealed to his ego, and although he loved to be taut and slim himself he would not want such direct competition in a partner. No, Gilderoy required magnificence of an altogether different kind, and reasoned that he himself easily had enough conventional beauty for two.

That did not mean however, that he restrained his imagination when considering his Professor's more intimate regions. Thus, as he reached backwards between his spread legs with his free hand, Gilderoy dreamt of Professor Slughorn's cock - enormous, thick and throbbing - at his entrance while fingering himself wildly, reaching for his prostrate and feeling his own cock swell to almost bursting point as he touched that sweet spot.

In that position, Gilderoy lasted for merely a few more seconds before his orgasm crashed forcefully upon him, making him shudder and gasp and leaving him limp and breathless upon the bedclothes. 

When he had regained focus of the room, Gilderoy muttered a cleaning spell and tucked himself into bed, feeling sated and happy, and wondering what the following day might bring. _Yes,_ he reasoned to himself, he _did_ want fame and glory and to meet all of the fabulous celebrities who attended the Slug Club, but he also wanted Professor Slughorn as a man. It seemed perfectly logical after all – who else was sufficiently knowledgeable of all the fine things in life to truly appreciate something as fine as him? 

With such a notion, Gilderoy peacefully drifted to sleep.

*****

The next day, Gilderoy wafted through the morning and afternoon, barely noticing his lessons or the other people around him; he was far too excited about the evening's soirée, to which he had _finally_ been invited. He skipped dinner in favour of going straight to his dormitory to afford extra time to prettify – he had to re-curl his hair, and set it, and do a manicure, and... gosh, - the list was endless! It really was hard work to keep his looks in order.

An hour and a half into his programme of treatment, Gilderoy turned his mind to what he was going to wear. He had a fine collection of dress-robes for any fashion-concious wizard – let alone a seventeen-year-old – and he took them all out of the wardrobe to display around the room with relish. 

First off, the bright pink with turquoise trim that he had bought for the Annual Wizard's Gay Pride Parade caught his eye, but he dismissed it as possibly being too flashy for sophisticated company – he wanted to come across as a class act, after all.

Then he turned his attention to the evergreen and silver embroidered with snakes. Beautiful, but so obviously Slytherin – he wanted to be able to network with whichever fabulous people were there and such a clear declaration of house loyalty might put some off.

Perhaps the purple brocade then? It was understated and classy, yet rich and sumptuous. Gilderoy had almost made his decision and was reaching for the weighty purple garment upon its hanger when Slughorn's words played once more through his head, - _nothing too heavy, it will be nice and... warm._

Ah, well the purple wouldn't do then – he didn't want to boil (perspiring was _so_ undignified), and he knew that if he ever wanted to win Slughorn's favour he should follow his instructions to the letter.

The decision was therefore simple – he would wear the half-robes of finest cream silk that he had bought from a wizarding tailor in Thailand. As was the fashion for young men in the Far East, these robes plunged deeply at the chest and finished at mid-thigh level. They had long, flowing sleeves, a belt that tied elaborately at the side and were traditionally worn with simple slip-on shoes. Gilderoy reasoned that the style would create just he right impression – he would look exotic, elegant, different, _fascinating..._

The silk felt delicious as Gilderoy slid it over his naked torso, and he was almost tempted to return to his bed and repeat his exertions of the previous night. However, he knew that time was now running short, so he quickly finished dressing and stood in front of the mirror to admire the result.

Gilderoy certainly couldn't fail to be impressed with the reflection he found there – the curling and setting charms had worked wonderfully and his hair seemed to have an almost radiant glossiness. The robes clung to his body in all the right places, revealing just enough throat and chest to tantalise and showing off his legs to perfection. He turned half-way around, and was almost scandalised by how pert and round his arse looked from that angle, and how the flimsy silk below it just begged to be lifted...

Satisfied, he gave his reflection a blinding smile and strode out of the dormitory toward Slughorn's private quarters.

When Gilderoy arrived, there was already a hubbub coming from within and he eagerly pushed open the door and entered. The room had been extensively decorated with sumptuous velvet hangings, golden braiding and tapestries, and a sizeable crowd thronged atop an exquisite Persian rug in the centre of the space. Gilderoy recognised several of the the other students – about ten in all. They were all known as the cleverest in their houses, or the best Quidditch players, or from the most famous families. Everyone was nicely dressed, but Gilderoy felt a surge of pride that he was the most finely attired of all, and the most unusual, to boot – that would definitely make the right impression.

In the centre of the crowd, resplendently in control, Professor Slughorn was holding court, deftly introducing his younger charges to his adult guests. Gilderoy could not help but smile when he saw him, being as he was one step closer to enjoying all of that attention just for himself.

There were eight strangers in total, and although Gilderoy did not immediately recognise any of them, all were male and all looked extremely important, with their fine gowns and aristocratic features. One man had a long dark beard and a strong Russian accent as he spoke between sips of vodka. Another was a small fellow with piercingly blue eyes and a huge hat that more than compensated for his lack of height.

Gilderoy accepted a glass of some delicious bubbling substance from a house elf who was stationed by the door and made his way forcefully into the centre of the group.

His forthrightness was quickly rewarded, as Slughorn chose to catch his eye in greeting. “Gilderoy, my dear boy! I'm so glad you could come – and at such short notice too!” He let the slightly ironic comment hang in the air, but Gilderoy refused to blanch – he _deserved_ his place here and he obviously _belonged_ \- Professor Slughorn could surely see that, and must really be delighted to have him ( _as it were,_ he finished silently). Gilderoy's expression remained bright and warm and he preened slightly to show off his attire and cosmetics to best effect.

Slughorn nodded imperceptibly and the corners of his mouth curled upwards in private amusement. Then the Professor threw his arms open wide in welcome and beckoned for his blondest student to come closer. Gilderoy swelled with pride and felt that he had passed the first test.

“Gilderoy, I'd like you to meet Lord Wateringdown,” said Slughorn, gesturing to a tall and finely-featured man in his fifties, “This young man is Gilderoy Lockhart.”

Lord Wateringdown theatrically sucked air between his pursed lips as he regarded Gilderoy and adjusted his monocle for the best possible view. “Gilderoy, eh?” he said in a light, drawling tone, “Well _he_ can call me Archie.”

“Marvellous. I'm sure that you two will get on famously,” declared Slughorn, who then excused himself to attend to some other guests on the far side of the room.

“How do you do, sir?” ventured Gilderoy to Lord Wateringdown, remembering his Sunday manners.

“Very well, thank you. Very well _indeed_ now I have seen you,” replied the Lord, letting his magnified gaze roam expansively over Gilderoy's minimally clad form. “What is it you _do_ young Gilderoy? What's your speciality?”

Gilderoy felt somewhat lost for words – he was merely a student like everybody else here. Granted, he was very good with cosmetics and fashion, but that hardly seemed a fitting answer... “I, err...” He was floundering.

“He's very good at memory-lapse spells, actually.” Gilderoy flailed as the unexpected interjection was thrown cattily over his shoulder by a clever Ravenclaw girl in his Potions class. _So they knew._ He began to blush and tried to search for a means of escape. This was not going to plan, and the girl grinned coldly at his evident discomfort.

Lord Wateringdown seemed oblivious to the sarcastic exchange however, and he appeared deep in calculation. “Memory-lapse spells, eh?” he said, “as in, making people forget things they already know? Interesting, very interesting.”

“Thank you, sir,” was all that Gilderoy could muster.

“Yes, we may well talk again, my pretty one,” continued the Lord, “in the meantime, take my ribbon.” He produced a silver case from one of the pockets of his blue robes and gave Gilderoy a strip of satin fabric. He then pursed his lips once more and headed off to find the house elf with the tray of drinks. Gilderoy looked down at the ribbon in his hand and read the embroidery upon it: 'Lord Archibald Isaac Wateringdown, Publisher and Entrepreneur.'

Before he could dwell upon that exchange for long however, the tall Russian chap came over and introduced himself as Count Slavinrostok of Moscow. Gilderoy quickly learned that he was a Thestral breeder of great renown who knew all of the great international Dark Jockeys, (as Thestral riders were called) and his head spun with the suggestion that he might be invited to watch the next major race in the Count's private box in Leningrad stadium.

Thus, in this vein the evening continued, with Gilderoy being passed from one impressive dignitary to another, almost as if they had come with the intention of meeting him. His contemporaries seemed to enjoy themselves, but more than once threw him a jealous expression as an important personage detached themselves from the young witch or wizard with whom they were talking in order to address their blonde classmate. Gilderoy merely soaked up the attention like a coiffed bath-sponge, and all the while, troupes of house elves brought trays laden with expensive drinks and exotic food.

The canapés were indeed delicious, but Gilderoy ate little even though he had skipped dinner – he was too excited by the occasion, and very concious of the way his robes fitted snugly all the way down his perfectly flat stomach – he had heard that wheat could lead to bloating and didn't want to spoil things now. 

However, in a rare quiet moment he found himself transfixed by Slughorn heartily tucking into the feast, smacking his glistening lips together and sensually licking every crumb from his ample fingers. Tonight he was even more impressed than usual by the large man who was pulling the strings of this entire affair, and Gilderoy wanted to be feasted on in the same way as the canapés – as an exquisite morsel to be savoured and devoured. He watched Slughorn pat his vast stomach in repose and felt a shiver of thrill as he imagined the weight of the man bearing down on him, pinning him to a bed, filling him with generous, thick hardness...

Gilderoy was woken from his reverie by a smart tap on the shoulder. “Lockhart, my boy! You looked quite away with the fairies there. Is everything alright?” Gilderoy blushed furiously as Slughorn addressed him, simultaneously trying to quash his thoughts to prevent embarrassment and having them fuelled further by the proximity of the object of his admiration.

“Yes, sir, of course. I was just thinking about something that Mr. Spinsnaggle just said.”

“Naturally, naturally,” gushed Slughorn, “Now its getting late and most of your fellow students will be heading off soon. I don't know if you might be free, but it would be lovely if you wouldn't mind staying here with us older wizards and lending a hand with a little, err... 'artistic project,' I think we'll call it. If so, there may just be a future opportunity in it for you.”

Gilderoy could hardly believe his ears. It was wonderful enough to be here in the first place, but to be singled out to stay for longer with the Professor and his friends – simply amazing! His grin must have nearly reached right across his face and Slughorn took this display of dazzling white teeth as an acceptance. “Splendid!” he said, “Follow me.”

Slughorn led the way through a connecting door into another of his private chambers, which was decorated just as elaborately as the first, but on a smaller, more intimate scale. It had been laid out with a ring of nine chairs around the edge, each of which was set with its own easel and sketching materials.

Gilderoy lifted his neatly plucked eyebrows by way of enquiry as to what he should do next. “Just make yourself comfortable in the middle, my dear boy,” Slughorn said warmly, “Everyone will want to focus on you, as it were.”

Gilderoy happily followed this instruction, and watched as all eight of the other older wizards filed into the room and assumed their positions in the circle. When all had settled, Slughorn spoke again, smiling broadly to each of his companions in turn. “Welcome, my dear friends. I'm sure you have all now had a chance to meet young Gilderoy and you will join me in making him feel comfortable this evening. Gilderoy, welcome to our little gathering. We call it the Adonian Society – for the appreciation of beauty in all its forms. Now if you wouldn't mind striking a pose as you stand there...?”

Pleased that he felt he had cottoned on to the situation, Gilderoy considered how he should stand for best possible effect – being asked to model for an art class seemed right up his street, after all. He opted to bend one leg slightly before him, thus raising the level of the hem of his robes on one side to give a better view of his legs. He decided to put one hand on his hip and keep the other by his side, with straight shoulders and his head tipped slightly backwards. He wanted to look heroic, yet also romantic, and thought that this position struck the balance rather nicely.

He was suddenly aware of nine pairs of eyes trained upon him intensely and the room had gone extraordinarily quiet. He tried not to move as a chorus of murmurs and comments then began, and he caught a few words as they were exchanged between neighbours:

“Most promising...”

“You weren't joking, were you, Horace?”

“Quite a specimen...”

The terse comments soon grew into more concerted whispering, and Gilderoy could tell that the Adonian Society meeting was in full-swing, all-be-it for a suspicious lack of the sound of pencil moving across paper. He held his pose patiently for several minutes, glad to be of service, and very happy to be admired.

The meeting was finally called to order by Slughorn clapping his hands, and rising from his chair. “Wonderful, gentlemen. And, Gilderoy – you may relax now. I do hope you have all enjoyed your explorations so far. Would anyone like to make a comment about where they think we might be headed next on the matter in question?”

The small man with the large hat was the first to speak. “Excellent physique, Horace; truly splendid. But perhaps we might try a little more definition about the waist, if I may say so?”

The Russian nodded enthusiastically at that suggestion. “Yes, and perhaps those lovely legs could do with some _garnishing_ while we're about it?”

“I understand perfectly, gentlemen,” said Slughorn, “That would indeed be illuminating. Gilderoy – would you mind popping next door with me for a second?”

Gilderoy was somewhat confused by the latest part of the conversation but he willingly followed the Professor through another internal oak door. They emerged in what must have been Slughorn's bed chamber – again, beautifully decorated and complete with a huge canopied bed - and Gilderoy felt an unexpected shiver of thrill at merely being in Professor Slughorn's inner sanctum.

“If you wouldn't mind getting changed into this little collection, my boy, that would be marvellous. Only if you want to, of course.” Slughorn gestured toward a clothes rail that was covered with a large black cloth, then patted Gilderoy on the arm and discreetly retired back into the adjoining room, closing the door behind him.

The instruction was simple enough, reflected Gilderoy, and he blithely removed the cloth from the clothes rail. He was greeted however, by a range of attire thoroughly unlike anything he had ever worn, even from his own extensive wardrobe. The nearest hanger supported a red satin corset trimmed with black ruffled lace. Next to it was a matching pair of rather skimpy knickers, and then came a black suspender belt with sheer stockings. Nestling at the bottom of the rail was a pair of shiny black stilettos.

At first, Gilderoy felt taken aback and his mind raced as he considered his options. He could obviously just leave if he wanted to – Professor Slughorn was being extremely polite and kind and he was sure that nothing bad would happen if he announced that he had to dash. 

Then again, he could stay and do as he had been asked. There may well be something in it for him if he did, as the Professor had implied, and he had very much enjoyed the evening so far; perhaps he would enjoy this new development too.

That positive thought sat well in Gilderoy's mind, and he felt himself becoming fascinated by the request that had been made. The garments before him looked exciting, sensual, alluring... He reached out tentatively and touched the satin of the corset. It felt cool and smooth yet reassuringly firm, and in that instant, Gilderoy decided that he wanted nothing more than to feel the object against his skin.

He quickly stepped out of his robes to stand in just his boxer shorts and removed the corset from its hanger. He was not quite sure how to go about putting it on, so he experimentally wrapped it around his torso, relishing the texture and the stiffness against his nipples, which had inexplicably swelled and hardened. The garment fitted perfectly as it met at the back, and before Gilderoy could wonder what to do next, he realised that the corset had been charmed to assist the wearer with putting it on. He could feel the ribbons lacing themselves through the many tiny islets, and when they had reached the top the whole thing began to tighten.

The motion was very steady and smooth, so Gilderoy did not feel in the least panicked. Instead, he found the constriction thoroughly delicious, and imagined that his Professor was there with him, personally applying the pressure; making him feel tight, safe, wanted... 

Suddenly, the corset stopped moving – Gilderoy thought somewhat too soon – and he moved his hands to survey the effect. It was indeed impressive; his waist had been cinched in by several inches to create smooth curves, and although Gilderoy loved his flat muscled stomach, this was almost better; he felt sinuous, beguiling.

Fortified by the experience, Gilderoy slipped off his boxer shorts and exchanged them for the frilly knickers. Sliding them on, he loved the way they were cut very high on his legs to show as much shapely thigh as possible, and the feel of the delicate lace constraining his balls was exquisite. In fact, the flimsy fabric barely served to contain his cock, which was now achingly hard, and Gilderoy pointedly concentrated on donning the stockings and suspender belt to try to school mind away from the most obviously carnal matters.

Finally, he stepped into the stilettos. Gilderoy could tell that the heels improved his posture; he felt the muscles of his arse clench beautifully as they were thrust upwards, and the elastic of the knickers constricted slightly more as his pelvis was thrown forwards - quite delectable.

There was no mirror in the chamber, but Gilderoy had every confidence that he looked simply stunning, he could just _feel_ it. He made to walk to the door but he found that the shoes needed practice. Therefore, Gilderoy found himself slowly fumbling at the door jamb when he caught the tail-end of a conversation from outside:

At first it was Slughorn's voice, “Quite beautiful, I heartily agree chaps. But you know me, I wouldn't lay a finger...”

Then the Russian, “Tush, tush Horace old boy. You'll have no fun with morals as strict as that.”

And Slughorn once more, “Maybe so, but you know my motto: 'look but don't touch.' It _is_ jolly nice to look though.”

“Seconded.”

“Hear, hear.”

Then someone must have noticed the half-open door. “Oh look, he's nearly ready.”

“Come in Gilderoy, my dear,” called Slughorn, “Don't be shy, I'm sure you look pretty as a picture.”

Gilderoy needed no further encouragement. He pushed the door all the way open to give himself plenty of space, and slowly sashayed to the centre of the circle. He was met by a room full of slack-jawed gasps and very wide-eyed stares. 

No-one seemed willing to break the awed silence, but several of the men licked their lips unconsciously. Gilderoy positively basked in their regard, slowly rotating on the spot, and flashing each one – particularly the Professor – his most coquettish smile.

Finally, a voice cut across the thickened atmosphere. Gilderoy realised it was Lord Wateringdown, and that this was actually the first time the tall man had spoken since the beginning of the meeting. “Well done Horace,” he said, “I'm jolly well convinced that this one will be willing to do _anything_ for the publicity, and look damn good while doing it too. You have yourself a deal.”

Slughorn beamed. “Marvellous! The syndicate is in business.”

A cascade of applause erupted around the room, and the looks of admiration on the men's faces blended with ones of relief and great financial anticipation.

“I'm most gratified to have pleased you all,” continued Lord Wateringdown, “if you gentlemen would like to take the Floo to my office now, we can sort out the particulars. Oh, and by the way, have you ever written anything, young Gilderoy?”

Gilderoy answered by reflex, “Well, only essays and things, sir. They aren't quite my strong suit, actually...”

“No matter, no matter,” said Wateringdown, “After all, writing ability certainly isn't a prerequisite for best-selling books now is it?” With that, he gestured for the other men to rise and they all filed out of the room, quickly giving rise to the crackling sounds of Floo travel.

Only Slughorn remained, beaming broadly at Gilderoy and clasping his hands together with relish. “You're going to be famous, my boy!” he exclaimed, “Before long, your pretty face will be on the cover of every book and magazine in the land! Now, if there's anything you'd like to ask me, do fire away. I'm sure this has all happened rather suddenly to take on board, but I guarantee you'll like it when everything becomes clear.”

Gilderoy was caught up in the general elation of the situation, but he realised that he didn't quite know why. _Professor Slughorn said he was going to be famous!_ That fact alone was enough, and he would have jumped for joy had the stilettos allowed it. He did however make an effort to compute the situation more carefully, and formed some questions, “What exactly will I be doing, sir? Will I be paid? And when can I start?”

Slughorn chuckled at Gilderoy's enthusiasm. “You'll be writing books for the public press, my son, or at least, appearing to write them and taking the credit for them. You will be paid ten percent of the profit – which will translate to a handsome amount, I can assure you – and you can start planning as soon as you like, although the first book will have to wait to be published until you have left school in just over a year's time.” 

Slughorn stepped backwards and regarded Gilderoy from head to toe in his extraordinary outfit. He then lowered his voice to an uncharacteristically low, very sincere tone. “And may I say well done, my boy? You're a stunning young thing Gilderoy, and what you did this evening took real character. Now pop back in there and get changed, and then go and have some lovely sleep. The contracts will be owled through tomorrow for you to read and sign.”

Gilderoy was somewhat startled by this change of pace. He felt enormously lifted from inside by the compliment and touched by his Professor's obvious withdrawal. The two things together made him feel galvanized to take a deep breath and venture, “Professor, just one more thing?”

“Yes, my boy?”

“I heard you say that you 'wouldn't lay a finger.' Well, what about if someone very much wanted you to do just that?”

A long pause hung between them for what seemed an eternity. At last, Slughorn's lips quirked into a smile and he arched one eyebrow with his customary poise. “It would be extremely rude of me to refuse, don't you think?”

Gilderoy returned the knowing smile and led his Professor into the bedchamber, smugly thinking that this evening, all of his fantasies were going to come true at once.


End file.
